Monday, August 25, 2008

This week marks one year since I first posted on The Dashner Dude, named in honor of my great-great-grandfather, who wrote a weekly newspaper article in South Carolina under the name Grandpa Dude.

To celebrate, we're going to have 5 days of giveaways. Sorry, no cruises, no cars, no money. Just boring old books, and one grand prize.

The Rules:

Each day this week, I will throw out some kind of a thingamajig for which you'll need to leave a comment to enter the contest. Each day will have a winner. Then, at the end of the week, I will choose one grand prize winner. You can comment each day, making your name 5 times more likely to win the grand prize. Pretty simple.

The prizes:

Daily Winner: An Advanced Reader Copy (ARC) of THE HUNT FOR DARK INFINITY, Book 2 of THE 13TH REALITY. These will be available in November, and it means you'll get to read it several months before everyone else.

Grand Prize: You'll also receive an ARC in November, plus you'll be sent a copy of THE MAZE RUNNER next week, for which I'll seek your feedback. This means your name will be in the acknowledgements section of the final book, to be published by Random House in Fall 2009. It also means I'll get your help. See how selfish I am?

Any questions? 5 daily winners, 1 grand prize winner, 6 total winners. The daily winners will be eligible for the grand prize. If one of them wins it, I'll give out another ARC to someone, so that 6 go out for sure. Make sense?

Okay, today's topic for the comments: You see all the time these contests for bad first lines of books. So funny, hardy har har. For mine, I want GOOD ones. If you are a writer, give us the first line (not necessarily just one sentence, but what you consider your opening punch) of something you've written. If you're a reader, give us one from a favorite book of yours. If you're neither, post a picture of you dressed up like Abe Lincoln in a clown suit.

Here's mine to start us off, the opening line of THE MAZE RUNNER (as it currently stands, bet it changes):

The boy began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air. Things got worse.

Limes. Fresh! Cut on wood of bamboo. That was the smell. I sniffed again –was it…salt? Salt and lime and bamboo…why did I smell something akin to margaritas? I had never had a margarita. How did I know the smell of margaritas? And how the heck did I know the definition of a margarita? I opened my eyes.

Nothing to get people to comment like free books! Here's the opening of my work in progress:

Even from the depths of oblivion my subconscious was aware that something wasn’t right. My mind struggled to the surface, sluggishly searching, trying to discover what had changed. It was hard to focus with the birds singing discordantly. Seriously, did they have to hit the quartertones?

Any minute now, Lucas thought, leaning back in his chair and watching Lina put the entire spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. It was a hot June evening in London, and many establishments, including ice cream parlours, had put tables and chairs outside on the pavement. Lucas had picked Lina up from work and convinced her to come savour a cold treat to combat the unusually sunny weather. Now she slowly and luxuriously sucked the ice cream from the spoon, and when it was empty, she dipped it again into the glass bowl. Lucas followed her movements with anticipation. She hadn't yet found the treasure, and there wasn't much ice cream left. Any minute ... now!

"Ewww!" Lina ripped the spoon from her mouth, bent over, and, to Lucas' horror, spat the mouthful onto the pavement. The diamond ring that he had so carefully arranged to be included in her ice cream sundae landed in a wet, unappetizing blob between two tables, where a passing customer promptly stepped on it.

I'm a reader with lots of favorites but here is an good one from the O'Malley Chronicles by Dee Henderson: "Where had he put the dynamite? He shoved aside cobwebs striking his face, moving deeper on his belly into a crawl space that ony rats should inhabit."

Eram pushed his way through the doors into the greasy inn, the smell of cooking food filling the air. He threw back the hood of his traditionally mud-brown traveler's cloak, revealing black, wavy hair, which he ran his fingers through with a sigh of frustration. Discouragement and hunger vied for his attention as he struggled to ignore both and utterly failed. He sighed, momentarily letting discouragement win. Again. So much for finding a Master today. Again.

First line: "I was beautiful, once. I can still sometimes see it--in the slope of my nose, the rise in my cheekbones, the curve of my eyelashes--but everything else is concealed by the mottled wrinkles of age."

"Auma groaned as Krysla woke with a high pitched screech, shaking her head back and forth in Auma’s arms. This was the tenth time that she’d woken up in the past two hours. Auma hadn’t even moved to put Krysla into her cradle. She kept her hands tucked underneath Krysla’s wiggling body, refraining the urge to shake her infant and yell, 'What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you sleep for longer than ten minutes? It’s ten-thirty. I need to sleep too!'"

Remember how I saw you on Saturday, and you signed my book, and I told you I really wanted to read the next one, and you said that you were giving out ARCs on your blog? You may not remember. But I'm here. And I better win one.

Opening line:

Jake was made Prince of Niff on Wednesday, but on Sunday, while everyone was at church, he slipped out the back door.

I'm just a reader, and Pride and Prejudice was already quoted so I'll quote Beauty:

"I was the youngest of three daughters. Our literal minded mother named us Grace, Hope and Honour, but few people except perhaps the minister who had baptized all three of us remembered my given name. My father still likes to tell the story of how I aquired my odd nickname..."

Time was passing too quickly and Kael had no time left to spare. Frantically he continued searching the ground for the last herb he needed.

"Please, don't let it be too late," he thought desperately to himself, as he clawed at the earth. Searching on hands and knees, he sought after the final herb for the potion that might heal the woman he loved as a mother.

I can't wait to see what other contests you have for the rest of the week. Here's a first line from one of my stories:

"The flowers are all wrong. Spring scents permeate the room and remind me of when we used to walk around the lake. The smell should be cloying, clinging to my clothes like the odor of onions to my hands, wrinkling my nose for days after I have chopped them into miniscule pieces. But everyone comments on how lovely they are. They are wrong. Flowers are about life and we are here because of death. I suppose it is appropriate, these blooms slowly withering."

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About Me

I'm an author who still can't believe people will pay me for doing something I love. I was born and raised in Georgia but now live in Utah with my wife and 4 children. Check out my website to learn about my books.

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Web design by Sarah Kiesche.Jimmy Fincher illustrations by Michael Phipps. Written content by James Dashner. Copyright 2007, All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or distribute without author's explicit permission.